


A One And Done Kind Of Girl

by InkyCoffee



Category: Castle
Genre: AU, Complete, F/M, Las Vegas Wedding, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-20
Updated: 2014-09-24
Packaged: 2018-02-18 02:45:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2332394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkyCoffee/pseuds/InkyCoffee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm sorry, there's a mistake. I've never been married."<br/>The clerk was not to be put off. "Well according to this, you have. And it looks like you still are."<br/>What if Kate's Vegas bridegroom wasn't Rogan after all? A 6x23 fix-it, cowritten by AnnieXM and louisiemcdoogle. Rated T for now, but WILL change to M in later chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a collaboration between Lou/lousiemcdoogle and Bec/AnnieXM. It's pretty much completely written, aside from a wee bit of editing, and should be about five chapters long and updated daily. If you have any questions about how we came to decide dates, feel free to PM either of us and we'll happily answer your questions.  
> Bec's note: Thank you, Lou, it’s been a blast tackling this prompt with you. Let's do it again soon!  
> Lou's note: It has been SO MUCH FUN co-writing this! Thank you, Bec, for making my words sound good :-)  
> Disclaimer: Castle belongs to ABC and AWM.

**Prologue – Present Day**

 

* * *

 

 

“T-minus 72 hours until we are married. This feels like a dream,” she cooed, grinning at him like the lovestruck fool that, even a couple of years ago, she would never have thought she would turn into. This was it, the moment the marriage certificate would be obtained and the last obstacle between them and their big day removed. 

  
He matched her grin, his eyes sparkling with joy as he leaned in closer to her. “That’s because I’m dreamy.”

  
His voice was pitched deep and the low timbre sent a delicious shiver up her spine. The giggle bubbled out of her, and she gave him a playful nudge to his side with her elbow. “Oh, shush,” she mumbled, a soft blush coloring her cheeks.   
  
Anything he might have said next was interrupted by the clerk's abrupt, “Next!”  
  
“Oh.” He sounded disappointed their moment had been interrupted, but this was, after all, why they were here. She watched as he handed over all of their paperwork. “Here you are.”  
  
The clerk couldn't have sounded less interested as she ran her eyes over the forms before her and said, “Mr. Richard Castle and Miss Katherine Beckett.”   
  
“That’s us.” He gestured between them, and she couldn't help but loop her hand through his arm. She rested her head on his shoulder, and allowed a happy smile to play on her lips. For once everything was falling into place.   
  
“Proof of divorce?” the clerk asked.   
  


Castle handed over the necessary papers, and the clerk checked through them briefly, before putting them aside and staring at the pair of them expectantly once more.

  
“Is – is there something wrong with my documents?” Castle's voice squeaked in the adorable way it did whenever he thought he was in trouble. She'd have to think of some way to make him squeak tonight after...  
  
The clerk's abrupt voice stopped that train of thought. “I'll need the rest. Also, Miss Beckett, do you have yours?” she asked.   
  


Kate's head shot up. “Pardon me?”  
  


“The rest?” Castle echoed. “Wait, yours?”

  
“Your divorce paperwork.” the clerk repeated to Beckett.  
  
Kate chuckled in disbelief, but there was a nervous edge to it – something in the back of her mind telling her the clerk was right. “I’m sorry, there’s a mistake. I’ve never been married.”  
  
The clerk was not to be put off. “Well according to this, you have. And it looks like you still are,” she said, indicating to her screen.   
  
“I’m married?” Kate repeated. “To whom?” She was trying to get a look at the screen for herself, to see it with her own eyes. Married? No, that wasn't right. She would know if she was married. But the niggle, the strange sensation in her mind, remained unwavering.   
  


The clerk took a closer look herself, finally taking an interest now that it appeared there was an issue. “That's odd,” she began, lifting her eyes to take in the bewildered couple before her. “It says here you're both already married... to  _each other_ .”


	2. Chapter 2

October 1998

* * *

 

 

Rogan grinned across the console at her as he pulled up outside the hotel. Kate returned the smile and then lifted her eyes, gazing up out through the windshield at the accommodation they'd decided on. It wasn't the ritziest joint in Vegas, nor was it a hovel, but just another average, affordable hotel, with clean linen they could sully themselves. They were really doing this. She was in honest-to-God Vegas, at the start of a weekend of excess, planned on a whim. 

 

“Got your fake ID, Kitkat?” he asked. She met his leer, nodded and laughed, adrenaline coursing through her. God, her parents would freak out if they knew where she was. Being on the opposite coast sure had its advantages. 

 

Leaping out of his beat-up old car, she came around to his side, slid her arms around him, rose up on the tips of her trainers, and pressed a kiss to his jaw. If there was one thing she'd learned these whirlwind weeks of dating Rogan O'Leary, it was that time spent with him was never dull.

 

He was exactly the kind of guy her parents hated her dating, which was perfect. Okay, so he wasn't always honest – and that irked her – but he was handsome, charming, exciting, and a sophomore. What more could a freshman want out of a boyfriend? 

 

The small duffel bag she had packed with haste was slung over her shoulder, his own over-night bag gripped in his hand. He led her into the hotel with an arm looped around her waist, letting everyone around them know she was his. She leaned against him while a bleached blonde staff member checked them in, the look on her overly made-up face making it clear she'd seen couples like them before, and Kate swore that behind her bored eyes she was silently wishing them luck with their fake IDs. It passed in California, would it be enough for here? Thanking the woman behind the desk, keycard in Rogan's hand, her lugging both their bags, they made their way to the elevator and he punched the button for the seventh floor. The doors hadn’t quite closed when he bridged the small space between them, fusing his mouth to hers, and she let the bags drop to the floor with a heavy thud, allowing her hands freedom to slide under his shirt. 

 

This weekend was going to be perfect. Just the two of them, an entire hotel room to themselves.

 

The unfortunate side effect of dorm life was that, thanks to her roommate Debbie's hairspray obsession, even when she was out, their room reeked, and probably had enough ethanol on the surfaces to raze the room in seconds should a fire start. Likewise, Rogan's roommate, Pete, was a gamer who didn't seem to even leave for class, let alone allow the other occupant any... private time. Ergo, aside from getting to third base last week in the cramped confines of Rogan's back seat, they just hadn't had the chance to  _ do _ anything... let alone each other. And her patience was fading. Fast. 

 

She was tempted to just spend the whole weekend in their room with him. Apparently he had other plans, though. As soon as they were in their room he was rifling through his bag. 

 

“Let's get a drink! Vegas, baby!” He laughed, pulled a slightly rumpled button-down out, and tugged his t-shirt over his head. When his skin was exposed, she stole the moment to appreciate the view, to admire his smooth, broad chest and toned stomach, before taking her own bag to the bathroom. 

 

“I'll be quick,” she promised, a smidge of his enthusiasm rubbing off on her. 

 

They were in Vegas for the whole weekend. She could hold off on tearing his clothes off just a little longer – but not  _ too _ long. Her body was thrumming in anticipation, of bodies pressed together, serpentine tongues doing wicked things to sweat-slicked skin, and the long-awaited handing over of the infuriating V card.

 

She pulled out the tiny black number she'd bought for this weekend feeling older, more like the age on her ID, as she slid the dress on, the slinky material clinging to her skin, hugging every curve. She fixed her hair into a passable up-do and added a little more makeup. For the finishing touch, she reached for the four-inch heels she'd invested in. She had worn heels before, and she'd been okay in the shop, but actually wearing them for a whole evening may prove to be a challenge. 

 

On the other hand, between the tiny black dress and the heels, her legs suddenly looked about three times longer. 

 

Besides, she'd have Rogan to hang onto if she tottered a little. 

 

Coming out of the bathroom, she stood for a moment, waiting for her boyfriend's reaction. He swept his eyes over her, a slow drag up her body, pausing on her cleavage, before nodding in approval, the heat of his obvious arousal leaving her pink-cheeked and breathless. “Looking good, Kitkat! Now let's get out of here!” 

 

 

* * *

 

The club was crowded and loud; sweaty bodies grinded up against each other to the heady rhythm, lights and fog machines dulled the senses, alcohol loosened inhibitions – all the perfect ingredients for a good night out. 

 

And at first it was fun. 

 

They began with shots; the burn of the alcohol scorched her from the inside out, it fired through her blood, seared her flushed skin, and over-heated her frustrated body. One, two, three times, she threw her head back, swallowed hard, and slammed the empty glass down on the sticky bar surface. Repeat, repeat, repeat, until she stopped counting. She tugged him close, slid her tongue into his mouth, and tasted the vodka all over again. He followed her onto the dance floor, his eyes on her cleavage, hands exploring, until they became part of the crowd, and she couldn't even be sure whose fingers were squeezing her ass. 

As bodies rubbed together, as figures surged forward and drifted apart in time to the ebb and flow of the beat, she tried to lose herself in the music and in his arms, but she found herself distracted. Her body thrummed, harder, desperate now, yet his gaze kept wandering, his attention shifting more and more frequently – away from her. 

 

Her blood boiled, and she followed his gaze. She saw them then, twin blondes, dancing nearby, tossing their hair around, flaunting their chests, and throwing “come hither” looks in her boyfriend's direction. Hers, too, now she’d caught their eyes.  _ Christ _ . 

 

He stayed with her, though. 

 

For a while. 

 

They took a break heading back to one of the booths for a drink. As they laughed together, making out leisurely between drinks, she began to forget about the blondes, and relaxed in his arms. 

 

After the grind of study, she needed this weekend. Rogan was the first dateable guy to really show interest in her, apart from one of the guys in the Nebula 9 fan club, whom she'd had to turn down firmly – making her one social group a bit awkward for a few weeks. Rogan was daring, charming, experienced – everything a college boyfriend should be. 

 

Eventually, though, the volume of liquid in her system began to distract her, and she excused herself, slipping away to use the bathroom. No line, no wait, she had been gone barely more than a couple of minutes, yet the sight she encountered when she returned tilted her whole world on its axis. 

 

The twins, it seemed, had mastered warp speed. 

 

For one awful minute, the entire club stopped around her, her entire focus narrowing in on the blondes vying for space on Rogan's lap, her boyfriend blatantly and enthusiastically cheating on her right before her eyes.

 

Her stomach dropped as her heart shattered; all her dreams of a great weekend away, of taking things to the next level with her boyfriend, ending at the sight before her. 

 

“Kitkat, this isn't what it looks like!” he protested when he met her eyes, even as one of them licked her way down his throat, the other palming him through his jeans. His own hands didn't move an inch from the identical hips his fingers were curled around. 

 

Keeping her head high, she turned on her heel, steadying herself before she could wobble on the unsteady points, and left the club without a word.

 

 

* * *

 

She had to ask at the desk for a spare key to their room; the staff member on duty was the same one who had checked them in earlier and remembered her, but Kate didn’t miss the silent judgment in the woman’s eyes as she swiped a new keycard through and handed it to her.

 

It took a matter of seconds to repack her bag, swinging it over her shoulder as she headed downstairs. Once back in the elevator, she checked her wallet to see how much cash she had. 

 

It was empty. 

 

It had not been empty right before she went into the bathroom earlier that evening to change. 

 

_ Bastard.  _

 

At least he'd left her credit card, although her parents covered that. She groaned at the thought of having that conversation with her dad, having to explain why she'd charged a room in Las Vegas. That was going to be fun. Her mom would be worse – she could hear the disappointed ‘I-told-you-so!’ tone now.

 

Still, she had brought it with her in case of emergency, and given that she was in a strange city, at night, with nowhere to stay and no way to get back to college in the morning, she figured that this was an emergency. 

 

And while she was here, she might as well enjoy the night. She wandered in and out among the casino crowds, her New York upbringing giving her enough of a sixth sense about potential dangers to have her slipping inside one of the classier establishments and heading to the bar. There was no way she could afford a room here, but she still had her fake ID, and that should be enough to get her a drink.

 

And a drink should be enough to buy her a place to sit for an hour or two. 

 

Her feet were killing her. 

 

She slid carefully onto the bar stool at the far end, tucking her bag into the space on the floor between the stool and the bar. Getting the barkeep's attention, she ordered a vodka cranberry, taking the pins out of her hair and allowing her curls to drop around her face. Accepting her drink with thanks, she slumped at the bar, heaving a sigh as she nursed her beverage and fought off the tears pricking at the back of her eyes. 

 

She refused to cry. She sure felt like it though. 

 

A throat cleared beside her. 

 

Glancing up, she encountered a pair of very warm, very blue eyes.

 

“Is this seat taken?” he asked quietly.


	3. Chapter 3

_A throat cleared beside her._

_Glancing up, she encountered a pair of very warm, very blue eyes._

" _Is this seat taken?" he asked quietly._

She nodded, mouth suddenly dry.

The man was tall, broad, and handsome – and just a little older than was usually her style. But, then again, she was posing as a twenty-one-year-old tonight, and this man was maybe in his mid-to-late twenties. And all she was allowing was for him to take the empty seat next to hers, nothing more.

He slid onto the bar stool, signaled the bartender, and something about his movements suggested to her he wasn't about to have his first drink of the evening. Once he had the man's attention he said, "Scotch on the rocks, and a refill for the lady." As the bartender began to fill the order, he lowered his voice, and asked, "You don't mind, do you?"

She shook her head.

Okay. She was also allowing him to buy her a drink. No big deal.

"Not at all. It's the first thing to have gone right this evening," she replied, releasing a heavy sigh. The words had tumbled out, and the sigh had quickly followed, and sober she perhaps wouldn't have been so quick to do both. But she was well and truly on her way to being sozzled. Sozzled? Yeah, she was definitely _sozzled_ if that was the word her brain chose to describe her current state. Damn.

One of the handsome stranger's eyebrows quirked up. "Oh?"

It would have been so easy to open up, spill all the ugly details of her evening, and pour her heart out. But even after this many drinks – however many it had been – she mostly knew better than to trust a stranger. Her City Girl guard went up and she dropped her gaze, the coaster beneath her drink blurring as she tried to focus on it. "Long story," she evaded, but the words came out a little slurred. She blinked, and the coaster became two, overlapping like a Venn diagram. It hurt her head, so she lifted her chin, and tried to focus on his fathomless blue eyes instead.

She saw a flare of interest in them as he looked her up and down. But he wasn't checking her out – not obviously, anyway. No, it was more like he studying her, and his next words confirmed that.

"Let me guess?" he asked. "I'm good at this game."

The barman placed their drinks in front of them, but they barely acknowledged him. She turned to her companion more fully, and made her best 'go ahead' signal with her hands, but her actions were messy, uncontrolled, and she could only chuckle at herself as he smirked.

"You're an East Coaster," he began, "I can tell by your accent. Educated, which makes it harder to guess, but I'll figure out where from exactly when I've heard you talk a little more. You're a gorgeous woman alone at a bar, which in Vegas usually means you're some kind of escort, but..." he trailed off for a moment, even as she sat up indignantly, her mouth parting in protest. "Thought so. You're too innocent," he paused as she let out a disgruntled puff of air at the word, before continuing, "and too offended to be an escort. You're dressed up, though, and drunker than I am, so... date gone bad?"

She turned back to the bar, downing the remainder of her first drink – why the hell not, when there was a second one right in front of her – refusing to look him in the eye.

She could feel his eyes on her, though.

"Date gone horribly bad?" he pushed. When she didn't respond, he added, "When I said innocent, I wonder—"

She cleared her throat to cut him off, and then shuffled in her seat, eyes darting around the room. Oh, God, maybe this was a stupid idea, accepting a drink from him.

His voice lowered into what was doubtless meant to be a subtle whisper, but came out as an excited hiss. "You were planning to lose your virginity tonight!"

She glared at him, gesturing for him to keep his voice down. "It's embarrassing enough without you shouting it across the bar!"

He looked suitably chastised for a moment, but a gleam in his eye told her he wasn't done with the subject.

"Sorry. But seriously, what happened?" he asked

"Blonde twins," was all she offered in confirmation as the last of the alcohol in the glass was drained and she was reaching for the next. "I started drinking when they showed up and now that I'm here, I see no end in sight."

"He's an idiot." The stranger's reply was quick and heartfelt, not a mere platitude. He touched his glass to hers in a salute. "I'm more than a few chapters into the novel myself."

She blinked, everything so fuzzy she swore she misheard. "I'm sorry?"

The hand holding his drink swayed in front of her, some of the liquid sloshing onto the bar. "Not my first drink of the evening," he clarified, chuckling as his sloppy movements confirmed his words.

She took a hearty swig of her drink. "Ah, well my back teeth are well afloat," she countered, giving him a cheeky wink. At least, she hoped it was cheeky, and not embarrassingly awkward and exaggerated, like it had felt. "So, what's your story, then?" she asked. "Not blonde twins, I hope."

"I'm from New York, but the love of my life had to be in LA this weekend."

Her heart sank. So he wasn't even single. Damn. But... "Why aren't you with her?"

His mouth quirked into a bitter smile. "She's staying with her mother."

She managed a sympathetic half-smile. "The monster-in-law that bad?" she asked. He looked confused for a moment, his expressive face the only clue she needed to know he was mentally replaying their conversation double-time, and then his face cleared.

"Ohhh... no. No, no. The love of my life is my daughter. Her mom lives in LA, so I flew over with her so she could spend a weekend there, but I didn't really want to stick around, so I figured I might as well come here as anywhere." His voice held a note of wistfulness that he unsuccessfully covered with a brave smile.

Kate's smile softened. "How old is your daughter?"

He grinned, his face transforming, practically bursting with pride. His love for his daughter made him sway a little, and he gripped onto the mahogany bar as he said, "She turned five last week."

"That's cute." She gave him a sheepish smile. Sober she most definitely would have uttered something with more substance. Addled as it was, her brain wasn't really cooperating.

"She is. She's adorable. She's a redhead, like her mother. And mine, come to think of it."

"So you and her mom aren't...?" Kate left the question hanging, not sure if it was okay to pry.

He jumped in hurriedly. "No. God, no. No, we've been divorced for nearly two years now." He turned his head away, cheeks staining a little darker than they had been before. "I'm sorry. I came over here to cheer you up, not tell you my sob story."

"Misery loves company, and I could use a good story," Kate prompted, downing the last of her drink. Her glass touched the bar a little heavier than she'd intended, and she let out a low, "Oops." She cringed and mouthed, 'sorry' to the back of the bartender's head.

The stranger drained the last of his own drink, and let it hit the bar surface with matching weight, and this time the bartender did turn. He signaled for refills, and said to her, "In that case, I'm going to need another drink." He threw her a grin as the barkeep approached. "And you're in luck, as a matter of fact. I excel at telling stories."

Kate covered her glass with her hand as the barman came over. "Actually, make mine a scotch?"

The young man behind the bar nodded, and she turned back to her companion, who was eying her approvingly.

"Scotch drinker. I like it," he said.

Kate found herself blushing a little, whether from his words or the alcohol she wasn't sure. "Not usually, but it seems right to match you," she said.

The bartender placed their drinks before them. She took a tentative sip and grimaced. "Yeah, I remember it tasting like that," she said, and he laughed.

"You don't have to drink it. I can order you something else."

"No, no. I'm good. See? Cheers!" She clinked his glass and took a healthy swallow, forcing her face not to contort with the burn of alcohol. She'd only had scotch straight once before, generally having favored vodka mixers and the like in the past. She was playing a role tonight, though, and for that she needed a stiffer drink.

"Cheers," he echoed, watching her drink, eyes following down her throat as she swallowed before he glanced away and took a healthy sip of his own.

"So, your sob story," she prompted.

He swayed a little, shifted on his seat to find his balance, and then gave her a slight shrug. "Ah, yes. Not much to tell, really. I only married her because she fell pregnant – seemed the right thing to do – and I fell in love with being a father. Long story short, I got home one day to find my wife – did I mention she was an actress? – in our bed with her director."

"Ouch," Kate murmured sympathetically.

"I threw him out, and she left, too. Sent me divorce papers from Florida. Left my daughter with me, though, which is the important thing."

"So you have custody?"

"Yes. My daughter only sees her mother a couple of times a year now, whenever she can find time in her schedule." This last was said with deep bitterness.

Kate took another swallow. It really wasn't so bad, once you were used to it. "Broken promises?"

He sighed, and took an echoing swallow. "Too many to count. Breaks my daughter's heart, which breaks mine."

She watched him, his eyes trained on the bar before them, blinking rapidly as he, too, struggled to focus. "You're a good father," she observed.

His eyes moved to meet hers, insecure, hungry for reassurance – and so, so blue. "You really think so?"

She nodded, holding his gaze, or attempting to anyway. "Yeah, I do. I mean, I've only just met you, and I can tell you adore her. You clearly care more about her needs than yours, otherwise you wouldn't take a whole weekend to fly her over here just so she could see her mom. A lot of kids don't even have a father in their life, let alone one who cares enough to put them first."

He blinked, his eyes suspiciously misty, and cleared his throat. "Thank you. It's hard to see that sometimes, especially when all her classmates talk about making their moms breakfast in bed on mother's day and her mom is on the other side of the country. I just... wish I could give her everything she deserves. Including a mom that actually wants her." He wiped the heel of his palm across his eyes. "Sorry," he murmured.

She shook her head. "It's okay. Alcohol's a depressant."

"Good excuse," he said in a soft tone, still regaining control over his emotions.

Kate nodded, not sure what more she could say, and a comfortable silence lapsed between them as they sipped their drinks, enjoying the sounds of the bar around them and the casino beyond.

"How you feeling?" he asked when the silence stretched and threaten to consume them.

"Sad but better."

"'Nother round?"

"You trying to get me drunk?" she asked, teasing.

"You were alcoholized before I even walked in," he bantered back.

"Alcoholized," she repeated. "I like that one, better than sozzled."

"Sozzled?"

She shrugged. "Either way, I was aiming for anesthetized."

"And?"

"Getting there," she admitted. She leaned on one elbow, facing him more fully as the alcohol zinged through her veins. "We could continue here," she began, "But this is my only night here, and I have no plans to sleep," she said, indicating the bag at her feet with a swift kick to the stiff material. "So I'm thinking... What's there to do in Las Vegas?"

"To ease pain, or just in general?"

"Bit of this, bit of that."

"Dress up as Elvis and get thrown out of a casino?" he suggested promptly, throwing her a charming, boyish grin.

"I feel like that's more of an Atlantic City thing," she drawled.

"True – if I ever find myself there, I'm gonna do it. Maybe I should write a bucket list – that would be perfect to put on it!"

"Let me know how that goes for you," she grinned, her gaze flickering down to his mouth. He really was a handsome specimen. He cleared his throat, and the way his Adam's apple bobbed made her mouth dry, and other parts of her deliciously damp. Goddamn Rogan, leaving her frustrated, leaving her having to take care of herself at some point in the evening.

_Unless..._

She gave him a flirtatious smile, let her eyes drift back to his lips, up to his eyes, sucking her own lip between her teeth as she did so.

Her gaze, the way she was checking him out, affected him, and he seemed to stop breathing for a moment as his own eyes fixated on her lips. "To answer your question," he said, still staring at her lips, "we could get out of here, take a cab up and down the strip, check out the lights – whatever you want to do." He met her eyes and threw her a haughty smile. She threw back the rest of her drink, slid off her stool, and picked up her ungainly duffel bag.

"Out of here, cab, strip," she said, lifting an eyebrow on the final word. "You coming?"

His eyebrows almost hit his hairline at her words and the dangerous smile she was throwing him, and he stumbled off his stool, steadying himself with a hand on the side of the bar in his eagerness to join her. He leaned in so close his mouth brushed the sensitive shell of her ear, and she shivered, her nipples hardening as his scent surrounded her.

"I certainly hope I will be," he whispered, before standing up straight and jutting an elbow out for her to wrap her fingers around.

She did so, grateful for someone to hold on to so she could walk out of the bar with at least a little grace. Walking at his side, she let her eyes drift, let herself admire how well his jeans fit him. Leaning back just a little, she stole a quick peek at his ass.

Okay, so she was totally picturing peeling those jeans off him.

And… what did he say his name was again?


	4. Chapter 4

Kate Beckett was a native New Yorker. She'd attended Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, was familiar with Broadway crowds, had seen the ball drop at Times Square – yet none of those experiences quite prepared her for the gaudiness of the incredible display of lights on the Strip. She and her companion – had they exchanged names yet? – gaped in wonder out of their respective windows as the cab drove along at its own pace, the cabbie evidently enjoying their awe of his city.

At least, she _thought_ they were staring out their respective windows.

"Amazing, isn't it?" His voice sent a shiver down her spine, husky and low in her ear. Glancing over her shoulder, she found him crowding her side of the backseat, his face only inches from hers. Once more, she found her gaze flickering down to his lips, wondering if he was as good a kisser as she was beginning to think he might be.

"It's perfect," she whispered, meeting his eyes again, and their gazes lingered.

The brakes slammed on, breaking the moment as they were both jolted forward in their seats. Her reflexes were considerably slower, his too, yet they managed to brace their hands on the plexiglass separating them from the front seat before the rest of their bodies could connect with it. The cabbie muttered something about a jerk, before apologizing to them.

"Where are we going?" Kate asked, settling back in the seat, the handsome stranger now pressed against her side, gazing past her out her window.

"Nowhere," he replied, murmuring the words against her ear. "Everywhere."

"So we're just gonna drive?" she asked.

"He was going to long haul us anyway, may as well let him do it legally."

She chuckled to herself as her eyes fell on a brightly-lit chapel out the window.

"What?" he asked, smiling from her sudden, drunken, burst of laughter.

"Oh, I was just thinking..." She shook her head, and then shrugged. "What's the most cliché thing to do in Vegas? And then the wedding chapel we just passed answered that question for me."

Her companion glanced out the window. "The drive-thru chapel?"

"Yeah," she replied, still smiling. "That'd show them," she murmured.

"Hey, can you turn in there?" her companion said suddenly.

Both she and the cab driver looked at him in surprise. "You sure about that?" the cabbie asked.

Kate gave him a nudge with her elbow, but her eyes were wide and she struggled to find her voice. "I am _not_ looking to get married tonight," she spluttered. "It was just a fleeting cliché-filled thought of ultimate revenge against the abominable twat, and it's passed now."

"It's not _real,_ " he assured her. "This is _Vegas_."

"It's not real?" she asked, confused.

"Not unless you sign the papers and make it legal." He cocked an eyebrow. "When in Vegas, right?"

"Are you actually serious about this?"

"A fake Vegas wedding?" he asked. When she nodded, he said, "It's on my bucket list."

"The one you just decided to start?"

"That one, yes."

Kate smiled. "A fake Vegas wedding," she repeated, mulling it over.

His voice was a low hum in her ear, setting her blood on fire. "Your ex got the blondes, mine's got my kid for the weekend. We can at least get a fake marriage, complete with an Elvis impersonator."

Her eyes flickered up to meet his, so close her vision was blurring a little, and her breath hitched. "Okay. If you can guarantee the Elvis impersonator, I'm up for it."

"Yeah?" he asked, grinning.

"Yeah, I can pretty much guarantee I won't remember a second of this in the morning, so..." She looked at him long and hard. "Why the hell not. Let's do it," she said, loud enough for the cabbie to hear. She turned back to her companion, her eyes trailing up his body, taking him in slowly enough for him to notice, showing him with her eyes all the places she wanted to touch.

"A fake marriage comes with real sex, right?" she asked boldly, eyes locking on his, body tilting into him, drawn by the rich tones of his laughter.

His nose nudged the curtain of her curls at her ear, sending electricity zipping through her blood in delightful promise. "I'm counting on it." His lips made contact with her skin, just below her ear, and she melted into him as he kissed his way down her neck.

The cabbie shrugged to himself, turning in.

* * *

He got them an Elvis impersonator. He got them an honest-to-God Elvis impersonator, standing behind the drive-thru wedding window, decked out in costume, but taking it far more seriously than they were. She supposed, when it was your job, you made it authentic.

Authentic? She almost snorted. Hell, the man could have simply been wearing blue suede shoes on the other side of that window and it would have been enough for her.

Elvis kept splitting into three separate men, and then blurring back together, and God, why couldn't they just stand still? It was amazing how they managed to talk as one, though.

Shit, she was plastered. Wasted. And thankful she could stay seated through this. Seated on him. They'd switched places before pulling up to the window. Somewhere in the middle of the tunnel of love he'd slid into her spot on the backseat and tugged her onto his lap, her side pressed against his chest, his arms around her, cheeks brushing as he lowered the window and grinned at Elvis.

Words were exchanged, and she kept fading in and out, hearing snippets, until they were at the vows, and she did her best to focus.

"Do you," Elvis paused and looked at her companion in question.

"Richard," he announced.

Elvis nodded. "Richard, take thee-?"

"Katie," she supplied.

Elvis, all three of him, frowned, and then did his best to interpret her slurring. "Cadey, to be your lawful wedded wife..."

Her crazy, impulsive, sweet man with his arms wrapped around her, repeated the vows to the multiple Elvises at the drive-thru wedding window, and, when he was done, snarked something about if she wanted fries with that.

She snorted out loud this time, and then slurred her way through her own vows, getting more of the words right then he had, including her own name.

The ceremony was simple, and quick, yet as tacky as it was, somewhere deep inside Kate found herself almost wishing it was real – that a handsome man really did want her forever, that she could somehow help mend the heart of his little girl.

Having said that, it was a fun experience, and when Elvis asked for the rings, they looked at each other blankly for a moment, before she was hit by inspiration and looped her hoop earring out of their holes. She slid one onto his finger as a bubble of laughter left his lips. He copied her actions, taking the other hoop from her, and then sliding it onto her own finger. Too big for hers, she closed her fist to keep the "ring" from falling off. Finally, Elvis said it was time to kiss the bride, and something ignited within her, setting her blood on fire. She twisted on his lap until their noses brushed, and their mouths fused together, a tangle of lips and tongues and teeth and _Oh, God, yes!_ His hands cupped her cheeks, and he kissed her harder. She sighed past his tongue, breathed moans into his mouth, and clutched at his shirt as he kissed her, and kissed her, and kissed her. She pulled back, shifted her knees until she was on them, straddling his thighs, and lowered herself down to meet his lips again.

"Sign here," Elvis commanded.

Her companion – husband, she internally giggled – pulled back, nipping at her lips one last time before saying, "Gotta pay, hang on." He took the paper, signed it, and handed it back, but it was quickly thrust back at them.

"You too, Miss."

"Mrs," she corrected, a playful smile on her swollen lips, before lazily scrawling her initials. Was she paying too? No, her credit card had never left her bag. Did it matter? No, she decided, almost throwing the paper back at Elvis and claiming her fake husband's lips again.

He mumbled directions to the cabbie about taking them back to his hotel, and they only parted when they arrived. He threw the cabbie a bundle of bills, which looked like far too much to her, picked up her bag, and hustled them into the thankfully empty elevator, where he continued to devastate her with his roaming hands and mouth.

She had no idea how they made it to his room.

"Oh mah mama will be ever so proud," she announced in her best drunken attempt at a southern accent as he paused to shut the door firmly behind them before guiding her toward the bed. "Ah waited til mah weddin' day so mah reputation ain't besmirched."

He hesitated, like something in his alcohol-addled brain had nudged him and told him it was a bad idea. "You sure about this?" he asked, eyes and hands still roaming her fully-clothed body.

She dropped the accent, and tried to focus her bleary eyes on him, tried to look as serious as she could. "Do I look sure?"

"You look like I'm drunk," he said in response.

She hooked a leg around his thigh, heel digging into his leg, and pressed her crotch to his. "I'm sure," she promised. "Sex, now," she commanded, sliding her slinky dress-clad body up his. "And then no more s-words, my mouth is having trouble."

"Better distract it then," he said.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, and pulled her in to claim her lips once more.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the rating has now changed to Explicit.

His hands made quick work of her dress, sliding it up over her head, tossing it over her shoulder to the floor. She started on his buttons, gave up and moved to his pants, uncooperative fingers working desperately to get his clothing off. She paused to drop the 'wedding band' earring haphazardly on the floor behind them in order to achieve greater dexterity, and shivered when his warm hands moved to her back, unclasped her bra, and then trailed around to her ribs. It might have tickled had it not felt so good. And then he was sliding the straps off her shoulders, the lingerie falling to the floor between them, sucking her nipple into his mouth, and silencing her sloshed brain. Pleasure rippled through her, and her back arched from the sensations of his lips and tongue as they alternated between sucking and flicking, and when his teeth grazed the sensitive peak, she let her head drop back, and released a low moan.

She was aching between her legs, the throb almost unbearable, the heat burning her from her core up. She needed him lower. Moving her hand to the top of his head, she threaded her fingers through his hair, and gently pushed him down. He released her nipple with a wet smack of his lips, chuckled, and allowed himself to be directed. He dropped to his knees, hooked a finger around her panties, and let them drop down her legs. Stepping out of them, and her heels while she was at it, she stood there, legs a little further apart, clinging to him as he pressed his hot, open mouth to her center and sucked her clit between his teeth.

Fire licked along her veins, shooting faster and faster through her with every sweep of his tongue, every delicious increase in pressure as his fingers explored, every kiss he pressed to her folds.

Shivers of arousal through her muscles turned to a steady quiver; he slipped two long, thick fingers up inside her, and began to massage her g-spot. A soft cry left her lips, and he vibrated his fingers, hitting the sensitive area again, and again, drawing her orgasm out of her, his tongue laving over her clit. Her nails dug into his shoulders and short, soft gasps left her lips. She stilled as he worked tirelessly to please her, and then every single part of her tightened to breaking point, and she came hard around his fingers and mouth, shuddering as release washed over her in waves.

He kissed his way up her recovering body, her muscles still rippling as he pressed his lips to her skin and journeyed up, around her navel, skimming each rib, over the small mounds of her breasts, her long neck, to her waiting mouth.

"Bed," she sighed into his mouth, too sated, too drunk to do this standing up. Not even sure she'd be able to manage it sober her first time.

He sucked her lower lip between his, released it, and then walked them backwards, shucking the last of his own clothing as they approached the bed, pausing to rummage through his pockets and extracting a condom from his wallet, which he then proceeded to roll onto his erection with practiced speed. He stripped the comforter off, and threw it to the floor, giving her a sly smile as he said, "You don't want to even think about what people do on those."

She laughed and nodded, stepping forward until her shins hit the base of the bed. Palms on the sheets, she crawled onto the bed, turned, still on her knees, and beckoned him forward. He followed her, easing between her legs, shifting them apart with his own body, and pressing himself against her. They knelt on the bed together, her pulsing, wet center pressed to his thighs, the friction making her hips buck until she was pressing herself harder against him and demanding more.

Showing off her flexibility, she leaned back, and eased her legs out from under her, until he was nestled between her splayed legs, looking down at her.

"You are beautiful," he breathed out, his eyes roaming over her nude body, taking all of her in.

She felt the blush as it heated her skin from her forehead to her toes, and threw him a shy smile.

His lips and hands began to explore every inch of her as she stretched out beneath him. She wiggled against the sheets, sliding her legs further apart, feeling the slide of his erection against her folds, and his mouth around her nipple.

Easing a hand beneath them, she curled her fingers around his hard length, felt him twitch and grow firmer against her palm, and began her own exploration. Her hand moved up and down his shaft, learning him from base to head, even through the barrier of the condom. He felt heavy and thick in her hand, and it thrilled her, the anticipation of him sliding inside her, filling her.

She gave him one final squeeze, and then released him, trailing her nimble fingers up his sides, her nails surely leaving indentations in his back as her fingers found a place to anchor.

Her hips bucked, thrusting her pelvis up to rub against him, capturing his erection between her folds, and rotating her hips to slide over him.

"Fuck," he managed, struggling to form coherent words.

"That's the plan," she murmured into his ear.

He rose up a little and met her eyes. "You ready?" he asked.

She nodded. "Please," she begged.

He shifted between her legs, pressed the head of his erection to her opening, and then entered her.

She held a breath as he filled her, as each inch of his hard length pushed inside, stretched her. She'd thought it would hurt more, and perhaps sober it would have, but any pain was numbed to a dull ache by the alcohol and her recent orgasm, and she raised her hips off the mattress to aid him.

He slid in slowly, more controlled than should have been possible while drunk. Her heels lifted off the sheets, opening her wider, and the slight burn subsided. She felt the brush of his pubic hair against her recently shaved mound, and exhaled.

"Please, move," she pleaded, her nails digging into him, hips quivering an attempt at a thrust.

He nipped at her lips, thrust his tongue into her mouth, and began to ease in and out of her with long, slow, thrusts. And, God, it felt amazing. She could feel him inside her, rubbing against her inner walls, creating a friction she'd never experienced. Rogan's fingers were skilled, but he'd never made her feel so completely full before. Not like this. She held tight to him, wrapping her legs around his waist and keeping his pelvis pressed to hers, effectively shortening his strokes. Her mouth slid from his, and she dropped her forehead to his shoulder, moaning into his skin. She met his thrusts with her own sloppy movements, her hips undulating off the mattress to a broken rhythm.

"You feeling okay?" he asked in a low voice between jagged breaths.

"MmmmYesss," she managed in agreement, two words slurred into one, the 's' almost hissed in a serpent-like way as he punctuated his question with a deep thrust.

Her body shuddered, and the words came out in a tumble. "God, yes, more like that. Right there."

He obeyed, hitting her hard and sharp, deeper than she'd ever imagined possible, the fluttering of orgasm beginning.

He stopped, and she moaned out her disapproval. But he grinned at her, and asked, "Get on top?"

_Oh. Fuck. Yes._ He eased out of her, leaving her feeling empty and cold, and then flopped onto his back. She moved to straddle his hips, but something wicked and impulsive flashed through her mind, and she turned her back to him, and then threw her leg over her hips.

"Reverse cowgirl?" he asked, impressed.

"I've heard good things," she replied, gripping his shaft gently, and easing him back inside her as she sunk down. One hand gripping his thigh, the other stroking his balls, the tips of her fingers sliding lower to tease him to breaking point, she kept her back straight and rocked against him. The angle allowed for him to stroke her g-spot, and she was barely moving, barely rolling her hips, and yet the pleasure was increased, every flick of her hips, every little thrust of his off the mattress, felt sharper, harder. Her pelvis rocked against his, barely rising, barely breaking skin-on-skin contact, and burning her up inside from the friction.

Her body leaned forward, toward his thighs, without her permission, her spine unable to keep her upright as the familiar pulse of orgasm began. In her hands, she felt him tighten. She let go of him, and slammed her hand onto the mattress, gripping at the sheets rather than him to hold on. Their thrusts lost all semblance of rhythm. Messy, sloppy, but still hitting her just right, and she tightened her muscles around him, drawing him faster to orgasm with her.

Leaning forward, she released the sheet with one hand and worked her clit, slamming her fingers roughly over herself when the tight coil inside her begged to break.

His hand gripped her hips harder, a ragged grunt left his lips, and he came hard, jerking his hips up as he spilled his seed into the condom.

And it was all her own body needed. She stilled, let out her own sob of release, and then shuddered forward, breathing heavily as every muscle contracted, and the only thing keeping her from collapsing forward between his legs was one shaky hand gripping the sheet.

For a moment, all that could be heard was their ragged breaths, the quick inhalations as they sucked air into their lungs, blowing it out in short puffs, coming back to themselves. With shaking legs, muscles too relaxed to obey, Kate eased herself off him and lay back on the mattress, burying her head in the pillow as she recovered.

"Holy shit," she breathed into the pillow, her words muffled. He rolled toward her, brushing a kiss to her temple and smoothing his hand in a caress down her spine, before he rolled away. She felt the mattress dip as he moved, was vaguely aware of muffled noise from the bathroom, and then the mattress shifted once more and his warm body pressed up against hers. His arms came around her, easing her sated body against his, and she settled back against him, allowing him to spoon her. Her body felt heavy and fluid, and something about sinking into his arms made her feel at home for the first time since leaving New York.

* * *

Warm air, puffing gently on the back of her neck.

Heavy covers.

Light.

Too much light.

Pounding headache.

Mouth full of cotton.

Skin.

Naked skin?

She stifled a groan, trying to snuggle deeper into her pillow, only it was... firm?

She cracked one eye open, wincing as the light assaulted her.

That was definitely an arm. A naked, muscular, manly arm -most certainly not her own.

A hint of a snore reverberated far too close to her pounding head.

Oh, God.

She did a quick inventory, even as the dull ache between her legs made itself known.

Hazy memories began to filter back, too. Rogan with a lap full of blondes. The warm blue eyes of a stranger. (Ryan? Ralph?) Talking at the bar. (Not Rogan. Rodger?) The lights of the strip. (Ricky? Ronald?) A drive-thru wedding chapel? (Rufus?) And then – ohhh, _that's_ what happened after they reached the bed.

No wonder she was a little sore down there.

Only... now what?

Squinting around the room, she noticed her bag dumped unceremoniously by the door.

Thank God.

Extricating herself took time and diligence. She might not know this guy's name, (Rodger almost sounded right?) but she was quickly learning that he's a snuggler. Finally, though, she managed to ease herself out from his arms, scooting across the bed as lightly as possible.

Grabbing her bag, she slipped into the bathroom.

She almost didn't recognize herself in the mirror. Her makeup was smudged around red eyes, her hair mussed, and... was that a hickey?

Not wanting to risk a shower, she washed her face as thoroughly as possible, and ran a brush through her hair, pulling it back into a pony tail. The taste in her mouth wouldn't quit even after she'd thoroughly brushed her teeth, her throat so dry it might take a gallon of water to wash the taste away and rehydrate herself. Thankfully, however, she had clean _everything,_ and a fresh change of clothes at least had her looking more like herself.

Sneaking back into the room, she gathered up her discarded clothes from the night before, tucking her heels in on top of everything else. The man never so much as stirred, still giving off an occasional light snore. She didn't dare a sober peek at him, deciding it was best not to linger; instead, she did a quick sweep around the room.

One hoop earring was lying on the carpet, and she scooped it up, but couldn't find its twin. The man in the bed grunted in his sleep, flopping over before relaxing once more. That's when she noticed the other earring, still on his finger.

She stared at it for a long moment, guilt tugging at her for slipping out without a word, but really – what could she say to him that wasn't awkward? No, leaving was for the best... and maybe the earring might be a nice token for him, a way of saying 'thank you' for his tenderness the night before.

That decided, and after a final check she had everything, she slipped out, credit card in hand.

Time to go home.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This marks the final chapter of this story. Thank you so much to every person who has read, followed, favourited, and/or reviewed. Your response has been overwhelming. Special thanks again to Bec for being so wonderful about cowriting this. You've made this experience a delight.

PRESENT DAY

The drive home from the registry office was made in stunned silence.

Kate honestly had no idea what to say to him, so she kept her eyes fixed firmly on the road. The Vegas weekend, ditching Rogan, the fake wedding to the man whose name – whose face – she'd never quite been able to remember. Rick. All this time, it had been Rick. Her mind was a jumble, a swirling mess of questions. One and done, she'd once told Castle, and she barely suppressed the bewildered burst of laughter bubbling up within her as she recalled that scene in a child's playground, so long ago now. How was it was possible – through all these years – they had been married?

Castle spent the trip staring out the window, brow furrowed, occasionally turning to gape at her. Once, a strangled sound came out as if he were about to speak, but he closed his mouth with a snap, slumping back into his seat.

Likewise, they stood apart on the elevator ride up. She had no idea what was going through his mind. She barely had any idea about what was going through her own. Everything she had been through, every choice she had made in the past fifteen or so years now felt like it needed to be reevaluated in light of this new information, and she wasn't totally sure how to process it all.

She waited quietly as he unlocked the loft with shaking fingers, following him inside where they were greeted by the cheerful smiles of Martha and Alexis – whose grins were wiped off their faces at the sight of Castle's long one. Her own, too, probably.

He turned and looked at her, nonverbally communicating that he would follow her lead on how to handle this, excusing her if she needed to go process alone. Sweet, darling man.

But no matter how much a part of her longed to pull away, to sort through her raging emotions on her own, one look at his depressed face told her she was needed here more. He would excuse her and love her anyway, but right now, he needed her – and she needed him, too.

Partners.

Crossing the living room, she ignored the siren song of his office and the safety of their bedroom beyond, and instead dropped into one of the armchairs. Castle's surprised blue eyes tracked her movements, and she gave him the tiniest hint of a smile, inclining her head in invitation to him to join her.

He nearly tripped over his feet in his haste to be near her, perching on the armrest of her chair to face the questioning gaze of his mother and daughter together.

She leaned forward, burying her face in her hands.

"Dad? What's going on?" Alexis asked, guileless blue eyes darting between her father and his... was she really his wife already?

Castle's hand hovered at her back, seeking permission both to touch and speak. She glanced up at him, giving him another faint smile of permission. The comfort and safety of his caress eased her anxiety as his warm palm gently rubbed her back.

They would make it through this, and come out stronger for it.

"Well," he began, shaking his head in disbelief, "there's no easy way to say this, but... it turns out that Beckett and I are already married – and have been for fifteen? No, wait, '98... sixteen years."

"What? How?" Martha exclaimed as she and Alexis gathered nearer to hear the tale.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Kate murmured.

"You're already married?" Alexis gaped.

Kate looked up at the redhead. "Not really," she began, but her ever-loving fiancé interrupted her.

"Except we are," he confirmed. "The two of us met in Vegas, had too much to drink, and thought it would be a riot to take a cab to a drive-thru wedding chapel."

Martha stared at them both, an alarming combination of scandalized and entertained. "You didn't!"

Castle nodded glumly, yet there was a hint of pride in creeping into his voice. "We did."

"Yeah, we did, but I never thought that it was for real!" Kate defended herself. "You didn't either, if I recall correctly – it's all still a little hazy."

Castle heaved an overly dramatic sigh. He was beginning to enjoy himself. Bastard. "Yet we tied the knot."

She felt Martha's knowing eyes on her. "Does your father know about this?"

Oh, God.

"I really am going to be sick." She dropped her head into her hands and let out a low, pained moan.

Beside her, Castle shifted uncomfortably. "Do you think he'll be... angry?" he squeaked.

Her head jerked up, eyes narrowing as she glared at him. "If he is, it's deserved. I may not remember much from that night, but I do remember that it was you who convinced me Vegas weddings were fake!"

Castle gulped, staring down at her with wide, terrified eyes. "But everyone gets fake-married in Vegas! How was I supposed to know?"

Martha's voice cut in, smooth and just a little snarky. "It seems Richard has made a habit of eloping."

"Gram!" Alexis turned to her grandmother, horrified, as Castle dropped his face into his palm.

"I'm just saying that with his history..." Martha began, but cut herself off. "Don't worry, Richard, I'm sure Katherine will let you out of the doghouse eventually.

"But... what's going to happen with the wedding, then?" Alexis asked.

Kate placed a reassuring hand on Castle's knee. "You're not in the doghouse, Castle. I still want to go through with it."

His eyes lit up, all puppy-like eagerness. God, he's adorable. "You do?"

She nodded, and heard Martha and Alexis sigh with relief. Good. She was pleased she had made the right choice for them, too. "It feels right. I still want my day. In a sense, all this means is we don't have to worry about the legal side of things, because that's already taken care of."

He was nodding with renewed enthusiasm. "That's what I was thinking. If anyone gets particular about it, I figure we can call it an elaborate vows renewal."

She frowned at him. "Castle, beyond my dad and the people in this room, I don't want anyone knowing about it. Can you imagine Lanie's reaction? Or Esposito's? Or Ryan's?" She buried her head in her hands once more, as the other three murmured sympathy and agreement at the picture she painted.

Martha sprang up. "In that case, there's no more time for dilly-dallying. Alexis, you were working on that list of yours. You two need to finish packing for your honeymoon, and you probably won't get another chance," she said, shooing them into their bedroom before returning to her own tasks.

Castle took her hand and led her gently through his office to their bedroom, shutting the door behind them and guiding her to sit on the bed, where he perched gingerly beside her, refusing to let go of her hand.

"You sure you're okay with all of this?" he asked quietly.

She hesitated, but nodded. "I haven't really had a chance to process it, but the end result is still the same, right?"

"We still get to grow old together, if that's what you mean," he agreed.

She tilted her head and eyed him in confusion. "One thing I don't get, though, Castle. How did your marriage to Gina work if you and I have been married this whole time?"

His hand slid out of hers so he could run them both up his face and through his hair, before flopping backwards on the mattress with a groan. "That whole thing was a nightmare," he said, before peeking up at her. "You really want the whole story?"

She nodded, scooting across the mattress to join him, curling into his side and making herself comfortable.

He heaved a sigh. "Gina had been showing interest in me for a while. I don't say that to brag."

"Uh huh," Kate said, giving him a cheeky smile as she did so.

"It was the simple truth," he defended. "I got back from Vegas, where I'd just had the most amazing time with a mystery woman," he poked her ribs to make her squirm at that comment. "And I was feeling... I don't know... amazing and awful, all at once."

"Amazing because of me, I hope," she said softly.

He reached down and laced their hand together. "But awful, because you left, without a word, and I figured that magic like our weekend wasn't going to happen again any time soon."

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "I was young, stupid."

"You were young," he repeated, and then he paused, and turned to look at her with wide eyes that told her exactly what he was remembering. "You were—I took-" He let out a low groan of horror, and dropped his gaze. "Oh, God, Kate, I-"

"Yes," she said gently, squeezing his hand. "You were my first, but," she added, forcing him to meet her eyes, and giving him a warm smile. "You're now my last."

Her smile held firm, unwavering, and a matching one soon began to appear on his own face. "I can't help feel a little strange about that," he admitted.

"Don't worry, you'll get over that and the pride will kick in soon enough," she said with mirth in her tone. "Now, Gina?"

"Right," he said, shaking it off for now and getting back into the story, "So Gina was there and obviously interested and we made such a great team professionally that I thought why the hell not? We dated for maybe a year, and the next fall, I had a huge three month book tour around Europe.

Alexis came with us for a while, but when school started up again, we took her back to New York and left her with Mother and her then-husband. Hardest thing I've ever done. And after that, it was just Gina and me."

Kate nodded, and squeezed his hand again, listening, and supporting him through the tale.

"As we were going through Greece, we had a couple of major cancellations in the middle of all the chaos, so we just took off down to Egypt to see the pyramids and have a break for a few days, just the pair of us. It wasn't worth going all the way back to New York – we didn't want to upset Alexis by breaking her routine again, besides which we were starting to get snippy with each other because we working all the time but not spending any real time together. Long story short, we met some amazing people down there who convinced us we should get married. Gina had been trying to honor them by wearing their traditional head coverings, only to me that made her look even more gorgeous, and made envisioning her in a veil too easy. And what could be more exciting or romantic than eloping? So our friends there helped us marry, or, rather, have a civil ceremony, as foreigners can't actually marry in Egypt. They wanted proof of past divorces, so I asked my lawyer to fax through my proof of divorce from Meredith – he didn't even know to look for anything else, and obviously it didn't occur to me. Apparently that had been enough for the Egyptian clerk." He chuckled. "Only problem was, we were so swept away by the romance of it all that we never had the license authenticated. I guess we both assumed we'd done enough, and it was legal back home too."

Kate's lips parted in surprise. She would have thought Gina would have been all over those documents.

Castle noticed her look and said, "She'd never done anything impulsive like that before, and there was so much going on with the tour that we just announced that we had done it and leaked some photos to the press for publicity, and no one even questioned it. We didn't even question it, until things went downhill a few years later and Gina went to file for divorce only to find there was no record of our ever being married. Then lawyers got involved and everything was a little crazy in there for a while, but in the end I figured the honorable thing to do would be to pay her out as if we had been married legally, if only to make it all end quietly for Alexis' sake. Thankfully we managed to keep it out of the papers, just released a statement about irreconcilable differences. Anyhow, that's why Mother, in particular, but Alexis, too, is so happy to be a part of planning it all this time around. Neither of them found out until after it was done last time."

"That must have been tough for them," Kate murmured sympathetically.

"It was. That's why we're all so thankful we have you now. You fit with our family – you don't stand apart from it." He bent down to brush a kiss to her temple, and they lapsed into silence for a while. It wasn't long before Castle started fidgeting, though. "Kate?"

"Hmmm?"

"Have I been cheating on you all this time?" he asked timidly.

She raised herself up on one elbow so she could look him in the eye, curtaining them off from the rest of the world with her hair. "Some might say so, but in all honesty – did you have any idea that we were married before today?"

He shook his head.

"Do you think I had any idea?" she pressed.

He shook his head again.

"Have we already had the conversation about both of us having pasts, and both of us being okay with each others?"

He nodded vigorously, some of the light creeping back into his eyes.

"Has anything really changed, that we can do anything about now?"

He shook his head, laughter bubbling into his eyes. She felt an answering smile grow on her own face.

"I choose not to dwell on the mistakes of the past. The thing I care about most is that you're my future, and we're getting married in front of our friends and family, and we're going to build a life together," she said, leaning down to brush her mouth against his softly.

"Well said. I love you, Cadey-Kate Almost-Castle," he said with an impish grin.

She leaned away from him. "What did you just call me?!"

His blue eyes were wide and far too innocent. "The reason I never realized it was you is because I always thought the name of the girl I met in Vegas was Cadey. Now that I think of it though, that first interrogation, I was sure I'd seen you somewhere before. I knew there couldn't be two pairs of eyes as gorgeous as yours."

She clambered up onto her knees, still trying to process everything he was saying. "You thought my name was Cadey?!"

"Must have been Elvis' accent. Oooh, I still have our ring!" he said, scooting off the bed and crossing to his walk-in closet, where, after a moment of clattering about, he emerged triumphantly with a box Kate vaguely remembered was housed on a high shelf. It took him a moment to paw through the contents, but eventually he pulled out a box made of popsicle sticks with "DAD" painted on the top with a shaky child's hand, which, when opened, revealed a hoop earring.

Kate gasped, looking from it to him and back down to the earring again. Wait a moment, didn't she still have...? "Wait right there! Don't move!" she instructed breathlessly, leaping off the bed and opening her jewelry box, searching into the deepest depths. "Ah ha!" she cried out, turning to face him, palm openly displaying the twin of the earring in the popsicle box. "All I could remember was that your name started with R. I've been mentally calling you 'Rodger' this whole time," she explained.

With a kissably roguish smile, he lifted the earring out of the popsicle box, and took her left hand in his, letting it hover at the tip of her ring finger. "Well, Cadey-Kate Beckett-Almost-Castle, will you do me the honor of forgiving me for tricking you into a 'fake' wedding, and marry me for real this time?" he asked, sliding the earring onto her finger as she grinned.

She reached for his left hand. "Only if you'll do the same for me," she said, and slid the earring home, before reaching up to kiss him as thoroughly as she could.

It was some time before they remembered they were meant to be packing.


End file.
